Life has become richer by the love that has been lost.
My friend, your great heart shone with the sunrise of the East like the snowy summit of a lonely hill in the dawn.
The fountain of death makes the still water of life play.
Those who have everything but thee, my God, laugh at those who have nothing but thyself.
The movement of life has its rest in its own music.
Kicks only raise dust and not crops from the earth.
Our names are the light that glows on the sea waves at night and then dies without leaving its signature.
Let him only see the thorns who has eyes to see the rose.
Set the bird’s wings with gold and it will never again soar in the sky.
The same lotus of our clime blooms here in the alien water with the same sweetness, under another name.
In heart’s perspective the distance looms large.
The moon has her light all over the sky, her dark spots to herself.
Do not say, “It is morning,” and dismiss it with a mane of yesterday.
See it for the first time as a new-born child that has no name.
Smoke boasts to the sky, and Ashes to the earth, that they are brothers to the fire.
The raindrop whispered to the jasmine, “Keep me in your heart for ever.”The jasmine sighed, “Alas,” and dropped to the ground.
Timid thoughts, do not be afraid of me.
I am a poet.
The dim silence of my mind seems filled with crickets’ chirp - the grey twilight of sound.
Rockets, your insult to the stars follows yourself back to the earth.
Thou hast led me through my crowded travels of the day to my evening’s loneliness.
I wait for its meaning through the stillness of the night.
This life is the crossing of a sea, where we meet in the same narrow ship. In death we reach the shore and go to our different worlds.
The stream of truth flows through its channels of mistakes.
My heart is homesick today for the one sweet hour across the sea of time.
The bird-song is the echo of the morning light back from the earth.
“Are you too proud to kiss me?” the morning light asks the buttercup.
“How may I sing to thee and worship, O Sun?” asked the little flower. “By the simple silence of thy purity,”answered the sun.
Man is worse than an animal when he is an animal.
Dark clouds become heaven’s flowers when kissed by light.
Let not the sword-blade mock its handle for being blunt.
The night’s silence, like a deep lamp, is burning with the light of its milky way.
Around the sunny island of Life swells day and night death’s limitless song of the sea.
Is not this mountain like a flower, with its petals of hill, drinking the sunlight?
The real with its meaning read wrong and emphasis misplaced is the unreal.
Find your beauty, my heart, from the world’s movement, like the boat that has the grace of the wind and the water.
The eyes are not proud of their sight but of their eyeglasses.
I live in this little world of mine and am afraid to make it the least less. Lift me into thy world and let me have the freedom gladly to lose my all.
The false can never grow into truth by growing in power.
My heart, with its lapping waves of song, longs to caress this green world of the sunny day.
Wayside grass, love the star, then your dreams will come out in flowers.
Let your music, like a sword, pierce the noise of the market to its heart.
The trembling leaves of this tree touch my heart like the fingers of an infant child.
The little flower lies in the dust.
It sought the path of the butterfly.
I am in the world of the roads.
The night comes. Open thy gate, thou world of the home.
I have sung the songs of thy day.
In the evening let me carry thy lamp through the stormy path.
I do not ask thee into the house.
Come into my infinite loneliness, my Lover.
Death belongs to life as birth does.
The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.
I have learnt the simple meaning of thy whispers in flowers and sunshine --teach me to know thy words in pain and death.
The night’s flower was late when the morning kissed her, she shivered and sighed and dropped to the ground.
Through the sadness of all things I hear the crooning of the Eternal Mother.
I came to your shore as a stranger, I lived in your house as a guest, I leave your door as a friend, my earth.
Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the after glow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.
Light in my heart the evening star of rest and then let the night whisper to me of love.
I am a child in the dark. I stretch my hands through the coverlet of night for thee, Mother.
The day of work is done. Hide my face in your arms, Mother. Let me dream.
The lamp of meeting burns long; it goes out in a moment at the parting.
One word keep for me in thy silence, O World, when I am dead, “I have loved.”
We live in this world when we love it.
